Dream and Wish
by Syranthil
Summary: A boring afternoon doing homework turns into a dream for Sirius, at the cost of one of his deepest secrets. Oneshot, slash, RemusxSirius.


Title: Dream and Wish

Author: Syranthil

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: Remus/Sirius

Category: Angst/Romance

Rating: T

Warnings: a little OOC

**Summary: **A boring afternoon doing homework turns into a dream for Sirius, at the cost of one of his deepest secrets. One-shot.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * *

There is something about homework, Sirius thinks, that just doesn't want to be done. With the soft, slightly clouded light streaming in through the Tower's windows, the barest hint of a breeze ruffling the curtains on his bed, promising rain—the entire world a distraction.

It's not _his _fault, that there are so many things in the world more beautiful than his spikily-scrawled Charms essay. It's _certainly _not his fault that there is one thing, in the world, much more distracting than the muted January sunlight.

He tries not to think about it, not now, with the object of his too-poetic musings a mere arm's length away. He's the only reason Sirius even tries to think about Charms, about work, on days like these. To be close to him. Sirius could be out flying with James on the pitch, or pulling some prank on a bunch of first-year Slytherins—anything, really, besides trying to get his into some semblance of coherence on Invisibility Charms. He should know about those, really, after five and a half years sneaking around under James' cloak…

Sirius' thoughts scatter as Remus shuts his Charms textbook with a tired sigh, stretching to relieve the ache in his back, the same one Sirius can feel creeping up on him now. Remus smiles, softly, and Sirius has to duck his head to hide the unexpected blush.

Remus' voice is gentle, laced with a dry humour that—Sirius thinks—is all too rare. "You're nowhere _near _done, are you."

Sirius stares down at the four inches of sloppy handwriting on his parchment, not really seeing the words. He wishes he could think of something witty to say to Remus' not-question.

He wishes he could stop being so cursed uncertain when the chestnut-haired boy is around.

Remus doesn't seem to expect an answer. The smile is still there, in his voice, when he speaks—Sirius wishes that he should dare to look. Just a glimpse of that, of Remus smiling, just for him, with no-one else around…

It would make all his fumbling attempts at concentration somehow worth it.

"…something to eat?" Remus is saying, and Sirius blinks away his train of thought before he looks up. Remus' gaze is unreadable, and strange; and Sirius can't remember the last time he didn't know what Remus' expression meant.

"Are you all right, Padfoot?" Remus asks, a kind of wary curiosity in his voice. The nickname trips lightly from his lips, and Sirius can't help but drag himself away from that thought before it becomes just another kind of distraction…

Somehow, Sirius finds his voice, lost these past two hours, and dredges up an answer. "Fine," he murmurs, unable to put his usual bright volume behind it. "Food, you said?"

Remus laughs. And Sirius is transfixed, mesmerised, fighting to keep his focus yet again. Something about Remus always does that to him, to the one-who-laughs-at-everything.

Sirius isn't laughing now. He wouldn't be able to catch his breath for long enough to think about it.

Still smiling, Remus slides gracefully off the bed, offering Sirius a chivalrous hand. "I should've known food would get your attention," he teases, as Sirius slips a trembling hand into his, praying that Remus won't notice.

If he does, he doesn't say it. Sirius' feet hit the floor, and a voice inside him swears that Remus' hand lingers a moment longer than it needs to.

o.o.o

Sirius swallows his nerves, and follows Remus out the door.

Out here in the middle of his distracting sunlight, Sirius doesn't even try to pretend that the weather is his problem. His eyes keep sneaking little peeks at Remus, without consent from his brain, and his breath threatens to catch in his throat at the slightest brush of Remus' arm against his.

It was Remus' idea to take a walk on the grounds. Sirius would never dare to suggest such a thing.

As it is, he hopes Remus doesn't notice the way he's practically staring at him, at the soft curve of his jawline and the flutter of his hair in the slight afternoon breeze. He doesn't want to know what Remus would think, if he knew. It's too much of a risk, and Sirius couldn't stand being… rejected.

He's never felt this way before. It's strange, this feeling, this nervousness, this terrible desire to be near Remus when all it does is tear him up inside. If he could spare the thought, he'd wonder where his usual confidence had gone.

But Remus has never been impressed by bravado. Remus is different—so maybe it follows that what Sirius feels for him should be different, too.

Sirius is barely aware of the fact that they've stopped, standing near the lake. He notices the stiff line of Remus' shoulders, his head held high, and wonders what on earth could be troubling him so.

A sickening chill hits him. No… No, not now, not this—did he… But he couldn't think…

Remus turns.

Sirius stops breathing.

"Are you sure you're all right, Sirius?" Remus asks, quietly, carefully, as though he doesn't really want the answer.

Sirius blinks. He hopes that's true, because he still can't manage to draw air into his frozen lungs.

"You've been acting strangely." Remus frowns. "I wish you would tell me what it is, Sirius."

Sirius aches to hear the quiet admonition in that tone, like a shard of ice driven into his already-frozen heart. He doesn't want Remus to worry for him. He doesn't want to tell him, doesn't want to have to hear the _oh, Sirius, I can't _from Remus' perfect lips. He doesn't want to lose it all—and he must, for Remus couldn't, would _never _feel the same way. Sirius knows that.

But there has always been the tiniest shred of hope, hidden very carefully away in the back of his mind, guarded with all the strength in Sirius' being. It keeps him going. The thought of losing it—of losing even Remus' friendship, of having disgust and hatred fill those brilliant amber eyes. He remembers the scorn, the threats, the bitterness when Regulus had said much the same thing to his parents. He wonders whether that's where all his problems started.

Remus is still looking at him, _studying _him, with a careful wrinkle on his forehead, and the slightest downward tilt of his eyebrows. "Sirius," he says softly, reaching up a hand to brush Sirius' shoulder—thinking better of it when he sees the terror in Sirius' eyes. "Talk to me, Padfoot. What's going on?"

Eyes locked to Remus', breath caught in his throat, Sirius struggles to find the strength to speak. "Remus—Remus, Moony, I… I _can't." _His voice breaks, somewhere in there, and he closes his eyes to hide the tears springing up from the sickening cold spreading through him. Remus will see—Remus will understand, all in an eyeblink, and Sirius will be left alone, with no hope for the future, not even that tiny fluttering bird of promise hidden in his heart.

Remus is silent. It isn't the comfortable paper-rustling quiet of the Gryffindor dormitories—this is heart-rending, terrible, and Sirius doesn't want to open his eyes to see the expression on Remus' face when he figures it out. And he will—there _is _no hope now, for Remus is smart, smart enough to think it through. It's part of why Sirius loves him—_loves him, _his deepest secret, his secret truth.

Sirius' breath catches at the brush of Remus' fingers over his shoulder, pausing, hovering for a slight moment before his hand comes to rest, a point of gentle warmth through the fabric of his sweater. His eyes startle open, against his will.

Remus smiles, gently; and Sirius is drowning in that warmth, that light. How can he still be smiling, when he knows—he has to know, it's too obvious now…

"Sirius," Remus breathes, catching his attention in the space of an uneven heartbeat. "Padfoot. What I'm about to do is either a terrible mistake or…" Remus' smile widens just slightly, but a twinge of sadness lurks behind it, and Sirius wants nothing more than to make that shadow disappear. But he can't—he's frozen, and Remus isn't finished yet.

Gentle amber eyes search Sirius' face but no-one moves, Sirius unable to tear away his focus, unable to muster up the energy, and Remus _waiting_, watching for something, and Sirius desperately wants to know _what._

Remus' smile fades. "Don't be afraid, Padfoot," he murmurs, and his eyebrows knit together as his hand moves to rest curved against Sirius' cheek. And Sirius can't help that he wants so much to clutch Remus in his arms, to hold him, to _move _but he's so helpless.

He still can't move when Remus leans in close to him, can't _breathe _when Remus touches his lips lightly to Sirius' own. Can't think to pull away when Remus' other hand comes to rest at the back of his neck, nudging his head down, closer to Remus, closer to—_gods, _but he's hoped for _so long—_

Remus pulls back, blushing, and Sirius is struck with the terrible certainty that this is all a dream. His throat tightens, his heart freezes and how _can _the world be so cruel?

When Remus asks if he's all right, Sirius can only nod dumbly. Remus offers a hesitant smile. "I thought—I thought for so long you knew," he says, with a nervous laugh, running his fingers through chestnut hair. "I was so afraid…" Remus' expression sobers. "I was so afraid you'd run away."

Sirius is becoming more and more confused. No—the dreams never go like this. Remus never—

He has to force himself to breathe when Remus smiles again, his study of Sirius' face revealing the black-haired boy's confusion. "I—Padfoot, I… love you."

Very carefully, Sirius takes in another breath. So it _is _a dream. That's the only way to explain it. His fingernails dig into his palm even as the confusion fades, the pain not even a shadow of what he feels now, like his heart is—

Sirius looks up at Remus, who's still smiling, evidently much better at reading the situation than Sirius is. Because the reddened half-moons on Sirius' hand still sting. Sirius feels a smile break out on his face, and his heart soars as an answering echo appears on Remus' own.

Because it's real.


End file.
